


Rinse and Repeat

by Idle_Inkling



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, F/F, Heart-to-Heart, Hurt/Comfort, Minute amount of fluff, Realization of Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23081602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idle_Inkling/pseuds/Idle_Inkling
Summary: Tissaia and Yennefer's cold interactions soon developed into a habit which, after repeating it frequently enough, became an automatic reflex for the two. To break the cycle, they have to try again. And again. Until they recondition themselves and finally confront their feelings.
Relationships: Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 22
Kudos: 83





	Rinse and Repeat

**Author's Note:**

> For those who have already read this chapter, I'm sorry but this chapter is exactly the same. The upload yesterday was odd and my story didn't come up to the top of the page, so it wasn't seen by many people. I hope this remedies that problem? 
> 
> If it doesn't then... well, I tried :)  
> For those who haven't read this yet, I hope you enjoy!

**I**

“You get to live,” Tissaia said matter-of-factly when Yennefer awoke from her blanketed slumber. The gleam in the girl’s eyes was not of jubilation for cheating Death, but the reflection of tears threatening to betray her composure.

She examined her bandaged wrists. Chagrin quickly replaced grief. After moistening her dried lips, she spoke. “You should have left me to die.” 

_Perhaps_ , Tissaia thought. But, then again, perhaps not. The depth and precision of the self-inflicted lacerations incised into her dainty wrists were exercised with strong conviction. Luckily - or unluckily for the girl - she was inept at the prerequisite for fatal exsanguination: proficiency with the human anatomy. She missed her radial artery by a hair, but it was that micrometer of easement that allowed Tissaia to undo her mistake. 

“You didn’t succeed,” Tissaia continued, “but it's not because your resolve waned. No. Your cut was well and deep. Had it been a foolish and irresponsible demonstration, I would have nothing but contempt for you. But your intent was neither of those. You cut with purpose. That is why I am here with you.” 

_That is why I saved you._

Yennefer lifted her head up. Her eyes looked vacant as she stared up at the equally empty ceiling. She licked her lips again and swallowed thickly. She was parched, but she didn’t ask for the drink that rested beside Tissaia. Despite losing her dignity, she was still consumed with pride. The act of soliciting for a drink meant she wanted to live. But she didn’t. She didn’t want to be alive last night, and she most certainly does not want to be alive in this moment with the Rectoress at her side.

“For once, I wanted to be in control of my life.” 

_But you took that from me._

Her eyes never left the ceiling. Tissaia’s eyes never left her. 

“Hm. That’s adorable, Piglet,” she replied, earning a small wince at the mention of her moniker. “You succumbed to other people’s perception of you, and you allowed it to take the reins of your destiny. You weren’t taking control. You were losing it.” 

Finally, Yennefer turned her head and met her eyes. Her malformed jaw twitched slightly but she was quick to hold in her tongue. She cowered, tucked her chin to her chest, and looked away from Tissaia. Her unkept, porous raven hair cascaded softly and obscured her face, creating a veil for her emotions. And yet, Tissaia was able to see her as perfectly as before. 

“Your time has not yet come,” Tissaia said with sincerity in her voice. She silently offered her the glass of water she has been rebuking in her mind. “Drink, girl. From this day forth, you are not a victim. _That_ girl is dead. You are reborn. So, drink and gain the strength you never had.” 

Yennefer’s eyes found hers again. She reached for the glass but hesitated when it was near her grasp. _Proud little girl,_ Tissaia immediately thought. She retreated and placed the glass back where it laid; its silhouette perfectly realigned with the wet ring marks on the wooden surface. 

“You don’t desire my help, Piglet, I know.” She acknowledged her contempt without displaying the same. She straightened her sleeves before she clasped her hands together and delicately laid them on her lap. “So, help yourself.” 

Yennefer licked her lips. She shifted her form on the bed and reached for the glass. Tissaia’s posture was straight and stiff on the stool she was sat on, but her eyes followed every millimeter of her movement. Finally, the girl quenched her thirst. A tight smile played on Tissaia’s lips, but she was quick to conceal this from the girl. 

Yennefer released a satisfied sigh after. She sighed again after she wiped the droplets of water from her chin with the back of her hand. 

“The rest of your journey here in Aretuza will not be as satisfying as that. Remember that sensation well. Treasure the wash of relief coursing through your veins right now, and don’t scorn yourself for _wanting_ to feel alive, Piglet.” 

She heard the girl’s heart skip a beat and she noticed a pang of regret filter past her features. Disdain plagued Yennefer when she realized that every scintilla she felt within that fraction of a second was quickly discerned by the Rectoress. 

_Yes. I can read you clearly. Like a children’s book under the bright sun, I can read you clearly. Yennefer._

The Rectoress’ thoughts didn’t betray her, and she prevented its metamorphosis to become an overt display of compassion. The fleeting thought of sentimentality was pushed down as she rearranged her uneven cuffs. 

Expression of compassion was not this girl’s strong suit either, Tissaia observed. By the way she fiddled with the glass in her delicate hands, and how she chewed her lip in contemplation, she was trying to mull through the cluttered and incoherent thoughts she felt were her emotions. 

The girl’s repetitive nature of indecisiveness and general mulishness proved to be antagonistic to Tissaia’s contrasting ordered nature, instilling bouts of exasperation in her extremities and limiting her thinning patience. Yennefer was debating whether or not to thank her. However, the act of expressing gratitude meant that Yennefer was indebted to her and the idea of being beholden to another person repulsed Yennefer as much as it did Tissaia. She shouldn’t thank her for conserving her, because this world is cruel and restless in inflicting its pain onto those who decide to walk on its path. 

Tissaia would know. She has walked the same uneven cobblestone pathway for over 500 years.

Finally, Yennefer gazed back at her. Tissaia already knew the words that were on the tip of her tongue. She refused to hear it. “The work you will undergo will not be easy. I have to straighten your back and flatten your hump. That task will not only be physically challenging, but it will also be mentally exhausting. We’ll also need to attend to your hands, because they are the most important instrument for a sorceress. They will have to heal naturally first, so that they’re resilient enough to withstand my magic when I attune it to repair your severed tendons.” 

“The scars….”

“There will be no scars.” 

Her ultimatum caused Yennefer to whiplash slightly. She cradled her bandaged wrist, and her thumb circled around the placement of her wounds. She chewed on her lip again. It was a terrible habit she’ll have to learn to outgrow, Tissaia noted. But that could be dealt with later.

“Scars are a sign of weakness; sorceresses do not keep scars, Piglet. Keeping such dangerous sentimentalities on your appendage will only rescind your freedom to choose who can be privy to your _true_ self. And as a sorceress, not having the freedom to choose is akin to clipping off the wings of fairies - without such privilege, we are just ordinary women. And believe me, Piglet, we are anything but _ordinary_. ”

A small quirk on Yennefer’s lips showed. She smiled at the sentiment of becoming someone beyond ordinary. The thought of just being ordinary was an unfathomable thought not so long ago, but now she can supercede all the expectations and become infallible. The fact that that possibility was now her reality - 

“Superficial traits are just that - _superficial_. Do not think the mask of beauty can be your armour in this world. It is far too flimsy to act as such. Use it as a weapon instead.” 

Yennefer blinked up at her. “A… weapon?” 

A dagger, perhaps. An item that is unsuspecting and trivial compared to the sumptuous swords knights strapped on their sides, but equally capable at executing a butchery when exercised with the correct method and finesse. 

“Sorceresses amplify their beauty and modify every modicum of imperfection on their skin - even if it’s just a blemish - to become an empty canvas. The ordeal of embodying a person’s perception is far simpler when your body does not already have a story to tell. The art of seduction and manipulation come naturally after."

“So, sorceresses are just like whores.” Yennefer’s snide remark made Tissaia’s eyebrows raise. The quickening of her heart doubled. The girl was right to regret expressing her uneducated opinion, but Tissaia was far too weary to be peeved by her disparaging remarks. 

“Not like whores, Piglet,” she corrected sharply. “ _Never_ like whores. We cannot be bought, or subjugated under the perverted fantasies of men, nor can we be discarded the next morning like a forgotten conquest. No, child, not like whores.” 

Yennefer swallowed, feeling more self-conscious under the woman’s threatening gaze. 

“You will learn this craft when it is appropriate to do so. You will learn how to make your target pliable for manipulation, and only then will you understand how our trade is different from the likes of whores lounging in brothels. Sorceresses, Piglet, despite having the power to do so, do not always resort to open rebellion. But this is a lesson for another time.” 

Tissaia stood and straightened out the wrinkles on her dress. She leaned over slightly and gently touched Yennefer’s hair, brushing away the strands that obscured her face, but Yennefer instinctively jerked away. 

Tissaia understandably withdrew to a respectable distance. “Get dressed, girl. The first class starts at noon.” 

Yennefer agreed with a nod, too frightened to form a coherent sentence. She was not used to being touched unless the intent was hostile. It was a defence mechanism to shrink under her touch like she did, to flinch when she felt her fingers on her hair, because she expected to be abused. She only knew of abuse. 

This girl is weak, Tissaia knew, but she wished to nurture and kindle the flames flickering in her eyes. But first, she needed to remedy the tears that were hindering their growth. 

“Let it all out,” she said softly. “We are alone, without witnesses. No one is looking at us, and I’m not going to say anything to anyone. Cry for the last time. Because there is nothing more pathetic than a sorceress in tears.”

As expected, Yennefer rebelled against her and grimaced harder to swallow the urge to weep. This was no longer an act of pride but pure pigheadedness. Tissaia took the glass from her and perfectly placed it back to where it belonged. With her back turned to the girl, she sighed. “You have two hours. Do as you wish until then. But after that, you are no longer to act as a common girl. No. You will be a sorceresses by noon, and I'll expect you to act as one.” 

Tissaia knew that Yennefer had her eyes fixed on the slope of her back, waiting for her to turn around. In her moment of weakness, Tissaia thought about pulling Yennefer into her arms and cradling her as she wept on her shoulder. The foolish thought caused the Rectoress to reprimand herself. She clasped her hands together and straightened her posture. 

“I shall return in two hours,” she announced as she pulled the door open. She glanced at Yennefer who was still staring at her. Contention gurgled in her mind, but she knew better than to entertain the thought of expressing an air of benignity. “Don’t waste it, Piglet.” She said, erasing the longing in the girl’s eyes and restoring the contempt she harboured for her earlier. 

_Good_. She will harness her vehemence and use it as her catalyst for growth. She will fortify her heart as she will reinforce her spine, and she will grace her hands with substance that is neither soil nor gravel. No. After her teachings, this girl’s hands will only know the feeling of fine silk, jewelry and golden coins. Of luxury. She will never be degraded again as she will learn that bending the knee will not protect her from this world. She will bestow knowledge into this girl, equip her hand with the ability to write, and the propensity to wield power she could have only prayed for when she was a defenseless fledging. Yes. She will take care of this girl worth four marks and teach her to become a woman who is both coveted, and feared across the lands. No coin can bribe such reverence. And no coin shall ever buy her dignity again. 

Tissaia stepped out of her chambers and closed the door behind her. She stood outside of her room for a while, jostling with her conflicting thoughts of comforting the girl. The mere idea of it caused an inflection within her, but she attributed the sudden discomfort in her thoughts to the sleeve that had risen slightly higher than the other. 

Tissaia straightened her appearance again but cursed when the ebbing discomfort didn’t wane. She looked back at the door and listened attentively. Yennefer was weeping. 

At that moment, one of her older students was fast approaching her. “Good morning, Madame Rectoress.” Their greeting was succinct, formal, and was followed with a small bow. 

“Good morning,” she said in kind, dipping her head slightly in acknowledgement.

That’s right. She’s the Rectoress. Yennefer is just another student. One out of hundreds she has had and will continue to have so long as she’s the Rectoress of Aretuza. Exerting unnecessary efforts on her was wasteful, and frankly, counter-intuitive if she wants to embolden perseverance and resolve into her temperament. 

Tissaia eventually walked away.

And Yennefer cried her last tears by noon.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank [BloodInTheFields](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodInTheFields/pseuds/BloodInTheFields), the self-proclaimed writer-whisperer (I seconded), for the creation of this story, because it would have just stayed in my drafts without her. 
> 
> If you like my work enough to read more, I have a modern AU rendition of Tissaia and Yennefer called [Cirgarettes After Sex](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22631674/chapters/54087529#comments)! It's gonna be a fun ride over there ;P
> 
> My Tumblr is [Idle Inkling](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/idle-inkling). You can talk to me there! Only if you'd like, of course. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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